


Blow Me

by roboticscreen



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Valve Fingering (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22888924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticscreen/pseuds/roboticscreen
Summary: As Swerve took in the scene playing out in front of him, all he could think was,Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up here. Well…
Relationships: Rung/Swerve
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Blow Me

As Swerve took in the scene playing out in front of him, all he could think was, _Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering, ‘how in the pit did the (charming) (handsome) bartender of the_ Lost Light _end up leaning against the wall of the storeroom after hours with the ship’s psychiatrist kneeling in front of him?’_ _Well…_

They’d danced around it for weeks in the beginning, playing a slow game of “how interested in me are you?” Rung had been the one to break first. He’d commed Swerve, asked him to meet him after hours in one of the ship’s rec rooms, and assured him it wasn’t anything bad. When Swerve had gotten there, Rung had just  _ asked, _ flat out, if Swerve had been flirting with him. He’d stammered through an affirmative, and right after that was when he realized how old Rung actually was, because the psych bot had laughed and explained that he’d been trying to basically the same thing, but (in Swerve’s opinion) in a way that belonged in a pre-war romance novel.

That had been the first time they’d… well,  _ fucked. _ “Had sex” felt too clinical, too mild for what they had gotten up to. They hadn’t even made it back to one of their habs, they’d just gone for it right in that little rec room. At the start, between increasingly breathless kisses, Rung had mentioned that he’d gone ahead and booked the room, no one would disturb them there…

Well, the day after, Swerve had still been walking a little funny, and he was pretty sure he’d never be able to look at Rung the same way again. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to. Since then they’d been wearing out each other’s struts in a variety of creative places, usually at Swerve’s recommendation. It had been a learning experience for both of them. For instance, they both learned that Rung did in fact have more toys than Swerve. Swerve had learned that Rung could put his entire hand in him, and he’d enjoy it. Rung had learned exactly where to press and rub to make Swerve’s vocalizer almost short out. Swerve had learned that Rung’s thighs didn’t clamp shut when he was close, but his hips bounced when he was there. Rung had learned that Swerve’s mouth was as big as he bragged it was, and just as skillful. Swerve had learned that Rung was very good at giving head and more than happy to do so. 

Rung did something with his tongue that brought Swerve sharply back to the present. The psychiatrist was kneeling in front of him with his mouth around his spike and two fingers buried in his valve. He braced himself with his free hand against Swerve’s thigh, and his panels were open. From what Swerve could see, through a glitchy visor and past Rung’s head, the mech’s spike was online and glistening with lubricant. That was another thing Swerve had learned; Rung could get off touch-free, if his partner was enjoying themselves, and Swerve  _ had _ used that to his advantage.

Rung swallowed around the head of Swerve’s spike, pairing it with a gentle, almost teasing, rub against his node. He slowly began to press the spike past his primary intake covers, swallowing every so often, just to let Swerve know how far he’d gotten, and passed the feeling of the slight ache in his jaw through his field to the minibot. It wasn’t a check-in—he was doing it to tease him. The way his vocalizer was positioned, Rung couldn’t speak with something down his throat, so they’d learned to improvise.

Another soft push and Swerve’s spike pressed past his intake covers. He vented shallowly and started to carefully pump his fingers in and out of Swerve’s valve. A field pulse let Swerve know he wasn’t giving up, he just needed to give his jaw a chance to adjust around that spike…

Swerve clamped a hand over his mouth as Rung managed a slight smile. Rung was quite shameless when it came to encouraging him to be loud, and he was still getting used to it. Normally he never shut up, but there was something about the very particular effect Rung had on him that made it so hard to speak. He felt Rung vent and then the mech’s lips brushed against his spike housing. Swerve’s hand flew down to the back of Rung’s helm, trembling and tapping out an erratic pattern against it.

He let out a soft whimper. “Oh, f — ”

Rung hummed and eased back before thrusting himself forward again. Swerve’s spike bumped roughly against the back of his throat and the minibot groaned as Rung swallowed around him. When Rung pulled back again Swerve got the idea. He took hold of the back of his helm and pulled him in less than gently. The fingers in his valve faltered as Rung moaned. He clutched at Swerve’s thigh as Swerve tugged him down again and again, still managing to do some truly interesting things with his mouth even as the soft noises that left him grew more and more desperate. Beads of lubricant and oral solvent, forced past his lips, gathered and dripped down his chin.

Rung’s field pushed against Swerve’s, heavy with need. It felt so good,  _ Swerve _ was so good, he was close, he was so close, and he was waiting.

Swerve faltered and Rung continued without him, pressing as close as he could. His fingers twisted gently in his valve so he could rub against his node.

Swerve felt his knees tremble and he gasped. “Rung, if you keep doing that—swear to Primus, I’ll fall over.”

Rung made a close approximation of a snicker and ran an agonizingly slow thumb over his node, rolling it gently back and forth. At the same time, he leaned back, nearly pulling himself off Swerve’s spike, and immediately pushed himself right back down. Swerve felt his spike bump against the back of Rung’s throat, past his intake covers, no adjustment needed. Rung made an obscene noise as his pace in Swerve’s valve picked back up.

“Rung, I—" Swerve whined and clutched desperately at the wall behind him. “Fuck, I’m—!”

He wailed in overload as his knees gave out and he slipped down the wall, dislodging Rung. The mech scrambled to catch himself as Swerve came, spattering his face and chest with transfluid. 

Swerve vented as his charge faded. “Uh… you’ve got a little—little something on your face there, sorry about that.”

Rung made a soft noise of amusement, not quite a laugh. “I’ve been hit with worse.” He wiped a smear of transfluid off his lip and smirked. “Again?”

He glanced down at Rung’s still-extended spike and leaned forward. “Yeah, but not for me. Come over here?”

He scooted over next to him, apparently ignoring his exposed array. Swerve had no such intentions. He slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him close; Rung nearly melted into his grip. He slumped down against Swerve’s chest, low enough that Swerve could rest his chin on his shoulder. Swerve traced his fingertips over the underside of Rung’s spike. The piece was small and slender, matching the rest of him, and it fit neatly into his hand. 

Swerve grinned. He’d found his vocalizer again, now that Rung’s mouth was no longer around his spike. “Nice contrast, huh?” he teased. 

Rung tipped his helm, pressing his face into Swerve’s neck, and smiled. “We can’t all be as much of a stretch as you.”

He felt his face warm. “Flatterer.”

“I’m only being honest,” he managed as Swerve began to stroke. The bartender felt his backstruts tighten against him. “At least one of us has to be— _ mm, oh _ , like that, yes—please,  _ oh, _ like that…”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

He shuddered and squirmed. “Oh, that’s hardly fair and you—" He moaned, high and needy, interrupting himself again.  _ “Ah! Swerve, _ Swerve please, I—" His fingers jumped to his valve, rubbing against his node in time with Swerve’s tugs. “Mm,  _ fuck, _ I’m—" (He only swore when he was truly desperate and Swerve felt his own spike stir with interest in response.) “Swerve, I—!”

He cried out as his helm fell back against Swerve’s shoulder. Swerve stroked him through overload, teasing out every spark of charge he could until Rung sagged against him, spent and covered in their mixed lubricants. Swerve slipped a hand down to his valve, teasing out a last few shudders as Rung lay there against him. Angled as he was, the back of his hip pressed against Swerve’s spike, back online and fully interested. Swerve tried not to rut against him, but…

He cleared his throat. “Um. There’s a, uh, slight problem.”

Rung glanced down over his shoulder. He smiled, turned, and dipped his helm.

**Author's Note:**

> Presented _mostly_ without comment, but I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
